Painful Realization
by Lavenderangel
Summary: Set during the season seven episode "Smoking." Chandler's thoughts during and just bdefore his break down with Roxanne. ChandlerRoxanne with slight Chandler angst. Sorry for the lame title, BTW.


Title: Realization  
  
Author: Lala  
  
Email: Lavenderlala08@hotmail.com  
  
Rating: G  
  
Category: Chandler/Roxanne, slight Chandler angst  
  
Summary: Chandler's thoughts before and during his breakdown in 'Smoking.'  
  
Spoilers: Smoking.  
  
Author's Notes: As far as I know, this is the first c/R fic on the net. Anyway… as soon as I get the script, I'll revise this, but until then all dialogue from the show is basically paraphrased from what I remember of the episode. Please enjoy, and keep in mind that this is my first Seventh Heaven fic, so if they're extremely out of character, forgive me.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters used in this do not belong to me in anyway. Some of the plot is mine, but most belong to the makers of the television show 7th Heaven.  
  
---  
  
I drive home from the church in silence, no radio or CD's playing like usual. I replay my conversation with Roxanne in my mind instead, smiling ever so slightly. She knows me surprisingly well, considering we've only been going out for a few weeks… but she's wrong about this.  
  
I am fine.  
  
About Reverend Camden and my dad… About everything. Everything's fine. Everything's… perfect.  
  
Sid's my brother and I love him, but I will not, under any circumstance go to see my father.  
  
He disowned me a long time ago, and frankly I couldn't be happier.  
  
I've got a great girlfriend, a wonderful job, and if it weren't for the fact that the previous owner of that job hates me, my life would be picturesque.  
  
As I'm getting closer to home, I slow at a stoplight. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, I reach to turn on a CD. I happen to glance out the window as I'm doing this, and my hand falls to the passenger seat, CD's forgotten.  
  
There's a beat up car next to mine, looking old and close to falling apart. The driver's somewhere in his late thirties, early forties. His hair's dark and dirty, his shoulders set in a familiar posture.  
  
He's angry. Seeing that I'm not going to be moving anytime soon, I lean closer to the window, in spite of my conscience and look further into the neighboring car.  
  
There's a boy in the passenger seat, looking about seven or eight. His hair is the same color as his father's, and I see fear and sadness in his face. Oh, how I can relate to those feelings…  
  
His father's gripping his shoulder, clearly yelling at him. I want to take my eyes away, but I can't.  
  
As I watch, it hits me like a slap in the face.  
  
The scene is so familiar, because it's exactly how the first fifteen years or so of my life went.  
  
That father and his son are just like my father and I.  
  
But not anymore.  
  
Never again.  
  
Because my father's not here.  
  
And soon, he won't even be on this earth.  
  
He won't be here to yell at me, to tell me how much I screwed up, to tell me how much he hates me.  
  
Because he's dying.  
  
My father's dying.  
  
The man who declared I wasn't apart of his family anymore is dying.  
  
My left hand still grips the steering wheel, and I only just now notice it's shaking. I'm holding the wheel so hard my knuckles are white, and hearing horns honk behind me, I realize the lights changed and that I'm free to go.  
  
But I can't go home.  
  
Slowly, I put my right hand back on the wheel, driving forward. The beat up car is long gone, but the memory of it is still etched clearly in my mind, refusing to leave, but allowing a change.  
  
The car fades, and the scene is now a living room. The boy's looks change, as does the man.  
  
"Chandler, how could you be so pathetic? How could you do this to me! I knew you were against the business, but to do something like this… I can't even begin to tell you how disappointed I am in you."  
  
Is that really what his voice sounds like?  
  
Does he really look like that?  
  
Are his eyes really that color? His hair? …Any of it?  
  
I don't know.  
  
Will I ever no?  
  
I've changed directions without even realizing it. While my thoughts have stayed with my father, my body has taken me to the only place, to the only person I feel I can confess this to.  
  
I slowly drive towards her house, willing myself to stop trembling, willing the painful lump in my throat to leav.  
  
Slowly, my body complies. My emotions calm and I'm able to think more clearly.  
  
Still the scene remains in my mind, along with an image of my father.  
  
Or what I think is my father.  
  
At last, I reach her street, and without even thinking about what I'm going to say, I drive the last few minutes to her house, park and get out.  
  
I walk to the door, only when I'm poised to knock realizing that there are no lights on.  
  
Knocking once, and then again a few seconds later, I come to the conclusion that she's definitely not home.  
  
Part of me is saying this is a good thing. Is telling me to get back in the car, drive home, and to just call Roxanne later.  
  
But a bigger part isn't listening.  
  
I find myself sinking onto her porch steps, and just… waiting.  
  
If it's cold outside, I've stopped noticing.  
  
If there are people around, my eyes don't see.  
  
My ears don't hear.  
  
I'm only seeing that car, and that family, and my father.  
  
I hear his voice, or what I think is his voice, and inwardly shudder.  
  
How long I sit there, I don't know.  
  
Hours, minutes, seconds? I don't know. I don't care.  
  
My father's dying.  
  
Suddenly, a figure breaks through my emotional haze. My hearing and sight return, and I watch her walk towards me. But I still feel nothing. The usual excitement and desire at seeing her is gone, replaced by… nothing. It's as though I'm num to feeling, unable to comprehend neither pain nor sadness.  
  
But if she notices, she doesn't seem to care.  
  
Wordlessly she sits beside me, any surprise at seeing me hidden by concern on her beautiful, perfect face.  
  
"I'm not fine," I say quietly. And then the words are rushing out of my mouth before I can even think what I'm saying. I tell her everything, about the car and the father and son and about my realization. A part of my brain registers the fact that my voice is breaking, my eyes are burning.  
  
But none of that matters. I just continue talking, afraid that if I don't get it all out then I never will and it will slowly consume me, taking over my life from the inside out.  
  
"…My father's dying," I finish, barely noticing the tremor in my voice or the burning behind my eyes. My brain's blocked out emotionally, but I don't care. It seems so simple compared to what I've realized not twenty minutes ago.  
  
"I know," Roxanne says quietly, and emotions return abruptly, like ice water being dumped over you when you're not expecting it. I can suddenly feel the tears, hot and painful, like little pinpricks of fire. They fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks, as the ever-present lump works its way higher up my throat, burning my very soul.  
  
And then I feel arms around me. Warm, soothing arms that even if I wanted to pull away from, I know I will never be able to.  
  
The tears come faster, refusing to stop. I try to speak, but can't. My face is pressed in to blonde hair as soft as silk, smelling of flowers and springtime and happiness.  
  
I feel Roxanne holding me close; feel her hands rubbing my back.  
  
"It's okay," she whispers. "Chandler… shh, it's okay." Her voice is so quiet, yet intense. Almost like thunder, filled with a quiet support and sincere understanding.  
  
I want to speak, but I can't. Part of me wants to pull away, the same part that wanted to go home earlier.  
  
But I can't.  
  
I won't.  
  
I need her too much.  
  
Love her too much.  
  
So I just sob into her hair, my body shaking us both. And she never lets go.  
  
Never moves away.  
  
She holds me, and soothes me and loves me.  
  
And though I've felt love before, this is different.  
  
The feeling of her arms around me and of her voice whispering in my ear, the feel of her slight breath on my cheek, the hand stroking my back and hair…  
  
It's amazing.  
  
It's like being burned, only painless. It's the most exhilarating, glorious feeling in the universe.  
  
And she's doing it for me.  
  
She's loving me, comforting me, saving me.  
  
I want to kiss her, touch her, love her forever.  
  
But not now. My brain, my body still grieves.  
  
And I know she'll still be here if, when they stop.  
  
So for now, I just let her hold me.  
  
Let myself cry.  
  
Let myself grieve.  
  
And let myself be loved.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Ummm… does anyone else find this out of character? I'm so sorry… I just couldn't stop writing the sap. Will you still leave feedback?  
  
Thanks for reading,  
  
Lala 


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